The thief dismounted and said, “Stand here and hold my horse while I go over the hedge.  You are silly, but surely you can do that.”

The thief climbed through the hedge.  When he was on the other side, the old man got on the thief’s horse, and away he galloped.

“Stop, stop!” cried the thief.  “And half of my share you shall have.”

“Nay,” cried the man.  “I think I’ll go on.  I’d rather have what’s in your bag.”

[Illustration:  The old man gallops away]

And away he galloped, riding as he never rode before.

II

The thief thought there must be something in the old man’s bags; so with his big rusty knife he chopped them into rags.  But no money did he find, for the silly old man was not so silly as he seemed.  His money was in his pocket.

The old man rode on to his landlord’s home and paid his rent.  Then he opened the thief’s bag, which was glorious to behold.  There were five hundred pounds in gold and silver.

“Where did you get the silver?” asked the landlord.  “And where did you get the gold?”

“I met a proud fool on the way,” said the old man with a laugh.  “I swapped horses with him, and he gave me this to boot.”

“Well, well!  But you’re too old to go about with so much money,” said the landlord.

“Oh, I think no one would harm a silly old man like me,” said the farmer, as he rode away.

The old man went home by a narrow lane, and there he spied Tib tied to a tree.

“The stranger did not like his trade, I fear,” said he.  “So I think I’ll take Tib home.”

The old man went home much richer than when he left.  When she heard the story, the wife danced and sang for glee. “’Tis hard to fool my old man,” said she.

—­ENGLISH BALLAD (Adapted).

[Illustration:  The Rock-a-By Lady walking by]

THE ROCK-A-BY LADY

  The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
    Comes stealing; comes creeping;
  The poppies they hang from her head to her
      feet,
  And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet—­
  She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
    When she findeth you sleeping!

  There is one little dream of a beautiful drum—­
    “Rub-a-dub!” it goeth;
  There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
  And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come
  Of pop-guns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
    And a trumpet that bloweth!

  And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
    With laughter and singing;
  And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,
  And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams,
  And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams,
    The fairies go winging!

  Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? 
    They’ll come to you sleeping;
  So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
  For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
  With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
    Comes stealing; comes creeping.